


28 Days Later

by the_random_writer



Series: Movie Night [1]
Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Crack, Hobbies, Insults, M/M, Movie Night, Snark, Teasing, Television Watching, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: It's movie night in the Grady and Garrett household, and interesting conversations abound...Hoping to make this an ongoing thing - each new 'Movie Night' story will cover the boys watching a different movie.I'm not a fan of the chapter system, so will publish each story standalone within a series.Don't worry if you haven't seen the movie - the story should still make sense :-)





	28 Days Later

Ty grabbed the remote to press the Pause button—the image froze mid-zombie attack.

"Time for a break?" Zane asked around a mouthful of nuts. He wouldn't say no to a recess himself. The movie was fun—predictably full of horror and gore—but age was a bitch, especially to bladders and butts.

Ty shook his head.

"So, what's up?"

"Watching this has got me thinking," was Ty's slightly cryptic response.

"Uh oh."

Ty wisely ignored the jab. "We've been married now for almost four years, but watching this has made me realize there's something about our relationship we've never discussed. That we probably _should_ discuss, so we both know exactly what to expect if and when the day ever comes."

Oh, shit. This didn't sound good.

"What's that?" Zane asked, leaning out to set his bowl of nuts on the table.

Ty sighed and scrunched his brows, trying to put his thoughts into words. In a solemn voice, he eventually said, "If there's a zombie apocalypse, and I get bitten by a zombie, what will you do?"

Dusting his hands, Zane leaned back and tried not to grin. Of all the ridiculous questions his husband could ask. Ty's sometimes-too-fertile imagination was gunning for the gold medal again. "What do you mean, what will I do?"

"What I mean is, will you kill me?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whole bunch of things. Where we are. Who else is with you when it happens. When you last blew me. How much coffee I've had that day. But mostly on what kind of zombie you turn into."

Ty's brows furrowed again. "How many kinds of zombies are there?"

"Depends," Zane repeated, to his husband's disgust.

"Lone Star, you give me that answer one more time, the question that prompts it's gonna be 'what kind of underwear will I need by the time my husband's done kicking my no-good, sorry, beautiful ass from one end of the house to the other'."

Grinning broadly, Zane explained, "Nick thinks there's anything from eight to twelve types, depending on how finely you slice the definitions."

Ty cocked a brow. "I'm guessing from the tone of your voice that you and Nick have politely agreed to disagree."

"I like Nick, really, I do, but on this particular subject, I think he's totally full of shit. I'm a zombie purist, which means I only recognize two kinds—traditional and new age."

"I'm gonna go way out on a limb and guess a traditional zombie's the _Night of the Living Dead_ kind."

"Hey, puns are my specialty, Grady. Get your own goddamn trick."

"When the fuck did I just make a pun?"

"We're talking about zombies, and you say you're gonna go _way out on a limb_?"

Ty snickered. "Okay, yeah, that was bad. Totally unintentional, but bad."

"You're not wrong, though," Zane acknowledged, extending his legs to rest his feet on the table. "In my admittedly prejudiced opinion, George A. Romero movies have traditional zombies. Slack face, blank eyes, minimally cognitive, no intellect or reasoning skills, slow to react and respond, lots of shuffling and groaning."

"You _do_ realize you've just described most of the people who work at Langley?"

Zane shook his head. "Except that traditional zombies are also supposed to be completely self-sufficient. Which absolutely does _not_ describe most of the people who work at Langley."

"Careful, babe. Cooper ever finds out you said that, you won't need a zombie apocalypse to feel a sense of impending doom."

"Cooper can bite me."

"I'd put you in the Sin Bin for that, but I think it only has room for one."

"We've shared much cozier spaces."

Ty turned slightly in his seat to lay his arm on the back of the couch. "So what's a new age zombie, then?" he asked. He glared and held up a warning finger. "And please don't tell me it's a zombie who eats quinoa and kale instead of brains."

Zane shook his head and gestured at the still-frozen screen. "That's the kind we're dealing with here. Vicious, fast, strong, initially immune to injury and fatigue, highly reactive to noise and light, excellent runners and climbers, tend to shriek and scream. Some people think they're not zombies at all, just humans transformed through some kind of mutation or viral infection. But _some people_ are full of shit."

"Does some people include Nick?"

Zane flashed the blandest of smiles. "I couldn't possibly comment."

Ty rolled his eyes, then turned back to the table to pick up his drink. "Think I'd rather be a fast zombie."

"You sure about that, doll? You're _so_ good at moaning and groaning." Although, he was also very good at screaming, especially when moths were involved.

"Funny."

Zane wagged his own warning finger. "And just so you know, you turn into a fast zombie, I'm putting you down as soon as you start to foam at the mouth."

"So much for loving me until I die."

"You're forgetting a zombie's an undead creature, and you can't be undead until you've been dead, so I wouldn't really be breaking my vows."

"Tell that to the divorce lawyer."

"Sure it wouldn't be the worst explanation for cause a lawyer's ever heard."

"How would you do it?"

"How would I do what?"

"Put me down," Ty explained. "And keep in mind, if _I_ turn into a fast-moving zombie, you'll probably only get one chance."

"I'd shoot you. Put a fifty-calibre semi-rimmed right between your zombified eyes."

To Zane's surprise, instead of being pissed, Ty grinned and gave an approving nod. "Works for me. You ever need to put me down, I expect you to do a proper job. Use a bullet so goddamn big it's almost a Destructive Device." His expression turned more thoughtful again. "What if I turn when you can't get to a gun? What would you do then?"

"I'd find something to decapitate you with."

"You wouldn't shove a stake through my heart?"

Smiling, Zane said, "That's vampires, doll, not zombies."

"Oh, well, excuse the ignorant fuck out of me," Ty drawled, rolling his eyes again.

"The survival guides all recommend decapitation, or at least removing the brain," Zane explained. "If I didn't have a gun, removing your brain would be a _hell_ of a challenge, so I'd probably just give you the chop."

Ty narrowed his eyes. "You're about to insult my intelligence, aren't you?"

"The hell makes you think that?"

"That comment about removing my brain being a hell of a challenge. You were gonna go on to say it's cus my brain would be so hard to find, weren't you?"

"As it happens, I wasn't, no. I was just taking into account that I usually remove your brains by sucking them out through the end of your dick. If you turn into a fast-moving zombie, I can _absolutely_ guarantee that blow jobs won't be on the cards."

"Okay, yeah, fair point. Decapitation it is, then. Just use something really sharp, make a clean job of it, okay? Don't leave me staggering around with half my head still hanging on."

Zane gave a jaunty salute. "One stroke, I promise."

"Oh, and try to do it out in the garden, if you can? Blood's an absolute _bitch_ to clean up."

Ty and his goddamn cleaning fixations. "Right, cus the one thing I'll be worried about when the zombie apocalypse hits is making sure the house stays tidy."

"There's no excuse for letting things go. Especially when you're fighting to save what's left of civilization. You stop taking care of the house, before you know it, you'll be running around in a loin cloth and waving a spear."

"What if I want to run around in a loin cloth and wave a spear?"

"You'd suit the look, but it's c _ompletely_ impractical, babe. Especially in a zombie apocalypse setting. Leaves you with far too much skin exposed, plus, a spear's a one-use weapon."

"Good point," Zane acknowledged. The topic might be ridiculous, but Ty's logic was totally sound.

"So, what if I turn into a slow-moving zombie?" Ty asked, steering them back to the matter at hand. "Would you still put me down then?"

"Probably not."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"What would you do?"

"I'd chain you to a post in the garden. You'd be minimally cognitive, but self-sufficient, so I wouldn't need to remember to feed you, and with a bit of luck, you _might_ be able to learn to play fetch."

Outrage flashed across Ty's face. "You saying you'd turn me into a _pet_?"

Zane nodded. "Studded leather collar and all. And before that filthy mind of yours asks, no, you won't be getting a bone."

"What about head scratches and belly rubs? Would I at least get some of those?"

"Only if you don't puke in my shoes, eat your own shit or piss on the lawn." That made Zane wonder—did zombies even piss and shit? If nothing went in, and all bodily functions had stopped, what the hell could ever come out? Maybe he should check with Nick…

Ty huffed. "Think I'd rather be decapitated."

"To be honest, even if there was a zombie apocalypse, I'm not worried about having to make that decision."

"Why the hell not?"

"C'mon, doll. Think about it. What are the chances we'd find ourselves in a situation where one of us turns but the other one doesn't? You know as well as I do that if push came to shove, we'd kill each other and go out together."

"I don't think we'd go out at all. I mean, if _we_ can't survive a zombie apocalypse, who the hell can?"

"We _are_ much better prepared than other people."

"We're both pretty fit, we're both pretty good in a fight, we both know how to ride a motorcycle."

"Horses as well," Zane chipped in. "Better than bikes once we've run out of gas."

Ty gave him a disgruntled glare, making it clear he would rather walk than go near an equine lord of hell. "I know how to fish and build traps, we both know how to forage and hunt."

"You can fix cars."

"You can read topographical maps."

"You can navigate using the stars."

"We both know how to load, strip, clean, repair and rebuild a gun."

"We have an axe in the garage," Zane reminded his spouse. He'd bought it last year as a present for Ty, hoping it would encourage his husband to strip off out back and chop up some wood. Sadly, that plan had yet to come to fruition—the fireplace in the house ran on gas, and lumber was sparse in this part of town.

"With your subject matter expertise and my military and survival training, I'm pretty sure we could find somewhere safe to run," Ty said.

Zane shook his head. "We wouldn't need to run anywhere. We want to be safe, we stay right here." He patted the arm of the couch.

"Why the fuck would we stay right here?"

"Zombies are undead creatures, right?"

"Yeah?"

Zane willed himself to keep his face straight. "So they can't come into a living room, can they?"

"Okay, Garrett, you're in the bin for the rest of the month."

"I guess that means you don't want me to tell you how you know when a zombie's tired?"

Ty gave him a soul-blasting glare.

"Because he's totally dead on his feet."

The glare morphed into a look of disgust. "Why did I marry you again?"

"Because you love me more than life itself?"

"Not right now, I don't. Right now, I want to punch you in your zombie and pun-loving balls."

"You know what the worst part of a zombie apocalypse would be?"

"What?"

"Pretending not to be excited about it."

Ty flashed a shit-eating grin. "We'd clean out the names on our enemies list in the first ten goddamn minutes."

"I call dibs on that soccer mom bitch from yesterday morning."

"The one who expected you to take care of her kids while she browsed?"

"That one, yeah. Soon as the emergency warning siren goes, she's getting a samurai sword through the head."

"Only one problem with that."

"What?"

"We don't own a sword, samurai or otherwise."

"Then maybe we should buy one."

Ty pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "We could add it to the survival pack in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Every house needs a samurai sword, right?"

"Absolutely. And every bookstore as well."

"Let's buy two, then."

"A matching set."

"His 'n' Hers. Or in our case, His 'n' His."

Ty's eyes lit up like a cat's in a room full of yarn. "Can we give our swords names?"

"If we must. But _good_ names," Zane warned, lifting a cautioning finger again. Given free rein, he knew _exactly_ where Ty would go. "Nothing pompous or overdone. No Stormbringers or Wolfsbanes or Brightroars or Werewindles."

"Who the fuck calls a sword Werewindle?"

"It was in a series I read last year," Zane explained. "Awesome sword, but the guy who owned it was a bit of a dick."

"What about Murderstick?" Ty suggested. "That's not pompous or overdone."

"Seriously? You wanna call your sword Murderstick?"

"Why the fuck not? Simple, accurate, descriptive. What more do you need?"

Zane sighed and gave his best 'fuck it' shrug. He knew better than to argue the point. "Fine. Murderstick it is, then."

"What about yours? What would you call it?"

"Not sure. Might have to give it some thought. Choose something that _really_ fits me."

Ty grinned in that peculiar way that told Zane mischief and mayhem was coming. "You should call it Kindness," the ex-marine said.

"What kind of name for a sword is _that_?"

"A stupid one, but whenever you use it, you'd be able to say you killed people with Kindness."

That was too much, even for Zane. "Okay, what did I say five minutes ago about shitty puns being my job in the marriage?"

Ty held up his hands. "That's the last one today, I swear."

"It's good, though."

"Would like to take credit for it, but I saw it in an e-greeting card."

"S'okay, doll. Not gonna divorce you just because you didn't think up a really good pun yourself."

"It's settled, then. We'll be Grady and Garrett, bookstore owners extraordinaire, owners of Jiminy and Cricket, wielders of Murderstick and Kindness."

"Works for me." Although, when it came to the cats, Zane wasn't sure who was the owner and who was the owned.

"I'mma put it on my business card," Ty proclaimed.

"Gonna need a really big card."

"Or I can use a really small font."

Zane snickered, then frowned. "Actually, now I think about it…"

"What?" Ty asked.

"Murderstick's a pretty good name, but if I'm using Kindness, wouldn't Snark be better for yours?"

Ty nodded, catching his drift. "So, we kill the armies of the undead using only Snark and Kindness?"

"Exactly."

"I like it."

"Me too."

The matter settled, Zane pushed himself up from the couch, intending to head into the kitchen to refill his drink and grab some more nuts.

"Only one problem left to figure out now," Ty called out after him.

"What's that?"

"Where the _hell_ do we buy a pair of His 'n' His samurai swords?"


End file.
